Sunday, December 30, 2007

I've been out of touch for the past four days because I was in the middle of a canyon in Monterey County, California, where the mountains meet the shore, and we had no electricity or cell reception. I came back dirty, sleepy and in love with California. I also met a man named Bamboo Harry who was a dream come true. I can explain that in person, if you like.

Monday, December 24, 2007

I'd love to post some pictures of San Francisco, but I can't find my USB cord.

California is so pretty, and the weather is perfect. Being with someone elses' family for more than a day is really hard and I am exhausted. Currently I feel homesick and a little bit sad. I miss lots of Richmond things and people.

I am in a very small hotel room with two boys, one of which sprays axe body spray on himself as if he is trying to apply an even coat of spray paint. In one way I am grateful that this person is not my boyfriend, but the fact that he is not also makes it an unapproachable topic.

I am such a baby.

I saw Juno tonight, it made my heart feel warm and at the end I was un-chatty, a phenomenon rarely experienced by those who know me.

Merry Christmas, friends, I love you very much. I'm thinking of you, amongst palm trees and trolley cars with santa hats on them.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

(Right after I took this picture I put a huge crack in the plastic front of my scooter when I accidentally turned the throttle while pushing my scooter through the yard. Awesome start to the morning. Not.)

Monday, December 17, 2007

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Grace Street Overlook, Church HillLast night while doing a video scavenger hunt with Michael, I realized that this is my favorite place in Richmond, and if you want to go there with me sometime at sunset, I will show you why.

Also, we will hopefully have some video clips in the showing tonight at Gallery 5, including such money shots as:1. My Mariah Carey impersonation, while driving2. Michael's favorite alley in Richmond3. My favorite person in Richmond (Hint: He's black and he swats at children with a tennis racket)4. Loud and badly sung christmas carols with majestic river views5. The most awesomely decorated christmas house we have ever seen.

In addition, the Liz King artist talk is tonight at the Visual Arts Center. Come, let's be friends!

Monday, December 10, 2007

I am sorry for the severe lack of actual content, but preparing for the re:open! weekend at The Visual Arts Center of Richmond had, for a little while, taken my brain away.

After two fancypants galas (both of which I got too silly drunk and laughed too loud but felt good so who cares, maybe?), and almost 9 hours of teaching a workshop to over 200 people, I spent Saturday night and all of Sunday massaging my high heel injured calves and buying a pretty blue dress because "I'm allowed."

I walked Ruby through Randolph yesterday afternoon, and paused my ipod to talk to every old lady I saw; the warm weather pulled them out of their houses and onto their decorated porches. On the way home I walked down to Byrd Park to let Ruby sniff around by the lake and I watched three kids get attacked by 200 or so seagulls for their bags of bread, and I know it's not nice to laugh, but I did. So hard.

I have been thinking a lot about places, and I feel conflicted, pulled by both the familiarity of the North and by how Southern I have become. I miss my family and my best friends and a handful of tangible things like bagels and beaches and blizzards and maybe some other B words, but to think about leaving Richmond gnaws at my gut. I love this house, I love the life we're able to have, I love the dirty art community that's building all around it, drawing on the walls of the city with thick, flat paint, claiming parts. I love giving our dogs a good life with a big space to run around in while still being in the middle of the city and having some change leftover in my pocket.

I don't know what I want, really, except to spend more days with the back of my knees touching the top of his legs and laughing.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

They're tearing up streets again.They're building a new hotel.The Mayor's out killing kids to keep taxes down,and me and my anger sit folding a paper bird,letting the curtains turn to beating wings.Wish I had a socket-set to dismantle this morning.And just one pair of clean socks.And a photo of you.When you get off work tonight,meet me at the construction site,and we'll write some notes to tape to the heavy machines,like "We hope they treat you well. Hope you don't work too hard.We hope you get to be happy sometimes."Bring your swiss-army knife, and a bottle of something,and I'll bring some spray paint and a new deck of cards.Hey I found the safest place to keep all our tenderness.Keep all those bad ideas. Keep all our hope.It's here in the smallest bones, the feet and the inner-ear.It's such an enormous thing to walk and to listen.I'd like to fall asleep to the beat of you breathingin a room near a truck stop on a highway somewhere.You are a radio. You are an open door.I am a faulty string of blue Christmas lights.You swim through frequencies.You let that stranger in, as I'm blinking off and on and off again.We've got a lot of time.Or maybe we don't, but I'd like to think so, so let me pretend.These are my favorite chords.I know you like them too.When I get a new guitar, you can have this one and sing me a lullaby.Sing me the alphabet.Sing me a story I haven't heard yet.